Justin Borders
by Black Blood of the Red Rose
Summary: From the moment they first laid eyes on him, they knew they wanted to spend the rest of their lives avoiding him. America and Canada fight to disown Justin Bieber.


Everything was white. Too white. The walls were white, the ceiling was white, the floor was white, the lights were white. It was so white and shiny that he had to squint against the glare of fluorescent lights bouncing of the white and grey speckled tile floor just to see.

The pungent stench of cleaner surrounded two personifications like a second coat, barely managing to suffocate the lingering smell of death.

"A creepy place for a creepy kid," America grumbled to Canada as the duo marched down the sterile hospital halls, "Isn't this supposed to be the newborn wing or something?"

The oldest North American twin only gave a small 'hmph' in return and allowed the American to continue his ramble.

"Dude, this is not how I wanted to spend my day off. _Look_ I'm out of a suit and a uniform for once!" America whined, gesturing to the casual clothes that loosely hung on his body, "That means I should be doing something fun and uber heroic, not boring and stupid. Hey! Your clothes aren't as cool as mine! That means I vote you to deal with this yourself!"

"Amer-Alfred, that doesn't even make sense." Canada answered in a small, gentle volume, though exasperation seeped into his tone, "You know what I would do if it was just me dealing with this problem and you would complain about not being give a chance to give your opinion."

"First Amendment, bitch!"

"Look, we're here; let's just get this over with, eh?" Rounding a corner, their destination came into view.

The two teenagers peered through the thick glass window separating themselves and a hospital room filled with newborn babies. Unlike the proud fathers and cooing aunts that were huddled around the window, dread held the lazily dressed teens close. From the moment they set eyes upon _him_, they both knew that they would spend the rest of their lives avoiding Justin Bieber.

With a low groan, America shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and dejectedly slouched forward. He allowed his head to thump against the cool glass, not caring about his glasses slowly slipping down to the edge of his nose. "Damn it."

Canada couldn't help but nodded in agreement, limply hugging his waist where his pet polar bear usually was.

From their right, a beaming middle aged father chuckled with a raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong, son? I don't know about you, but it seems like a blessing to be a father, nineteen or not."

"Woah there, dude." America hastily turned toward the man, shaking his head and waving his hands in a dismissive manner. "No need to jump to conclusions. Me and my brother are just, er, worried about the little guy."

"Brother?"

America jabbed his thumb at unnoticed Canadian, who gave a sheepish grin. "Yep, just a little concerned is all."

The man's eyes grew wide in realization. "Oh, sorry, son. I don't know how I didn't see you there."

"It's all right," Canada whispered, sheepishly rubbing the base of his neck, "I'm used to it."

"So, what are you boys worried about?"

"Just some… housing issues is all. Speaking of which…" Canada swiftly pulled of the red sleeve of his baggy sweater and glanced at his watch. "I'm sorry, but we kinda gotta get going…"

The father nodded his head and flashed an encouraging wink. "I hope it all works out for ya then."

America and Canada politely nodded goodbye and shuffled back toward the elevator at the end of the hallway.

**xXx**

"Oh god, Mattie!" America moaned, sliding his hands under his glasses to rub his eyes with the heels of his hands, "Why does Justin Bieber have to become such an idiot!"

Canada grabbed the collar of his brother's jacket and pulled America back to his side as the American veered off to the right and almost ran into a light post along the hospital's parking lot.

"I don't know," the older nation sighed with a slight shake of his head, burying deeper into his sweater to escape the cool spring breeze, "But I definitely don't want him."

"What?!" America froze mid-step and looked at Canada as if he had grown a second head. "No way I'm taking him. He's from your country, bro."

"Pay attention, idiot," Canada quietly ordered America as he dragged his twin out of a honking mini van's way and toward America's truck across the lot, "In my defense, it doesn't matter where he comes from, he'll act like an American."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, he'll be rude."

America crossed his arms and stuck his bottom lip out in a childish pout. "It's not rude, it's outgoing. Besides, nobody will know about him for a long time, and that's your area of expertise."

"Hey, it's not my fault-"

"_Plus_ he'll sound like an eight year old girl. America was founded on some badass old dudes, not squeaky little children."

"What does that even have to do-"

"You know, I bet he'll look like a girl too. Like he's probably gonna turn out like one of those valley girls, except not hot."

"Don't be a hoser," Canada snapped, stopping mid-step and forcing America to stop as well with a yank of his jacket. "You know perfectly well that he won't look like a girl."

"If his hair got any longer-"

"Why don't we just ask the other nations what they think?"

"Ask them whether he'll turn out a to look like a girl? Okay, but I don't see-"

"No, America. We'll ask them who they think should claim him. Who ever has the most picks gets the kid."

America glared skeptically at Canada's out stretched hand. After a moment he broke into a cocky grin and a competitive spark gleaned from his eyes. "You're on," he said as he firmly pumped Canada's hand once.

**xXx**

The North American twins solemnly stared at their sheets of lined paper. Hundred of tally marks of all sizes decorated the paper, madly scratched all over both sides.

"Dude," America moaned. "How the hell does something like this happen?!"

Canada slowly shook his head in shock. "I have no idea..."

Here they were: in Canada's brightly light kitchen, leaning on opposite sides the marble island, looking like zombies. Running only on double espressos and syrup maple syrup snow cones, dark, blue-purple bags bruised the skin underneath their glassy eyes, and their features sharpened as their cheeks and eyes slightly caved into themselves.

After a day's worth of persuading other personifications over the phone, and another day's worth quadruple checking the amount of votes each had, it all concluded in a pathetic excuse for an answer.

Glowering at their tallies as if they wanted the paper to be thrown into a volcano, they whined in unison: "Fucking tie..."

Unable to contain his resolute rage any longer, America threw himself on top of the island so he was on his lower stomach dug into the edge. Sweeping his hands across the sleek surface, he crushed the two papers in his hands and slide them back and forth across the island as if it would erase all the data from them.

"Fuck it all! Why is it so much work for one stupid kid?!" he cried, dramatically sobbing. "England! All I need was your back up and I would've won, ya bastard!"

Canada's immensely disappointing visage didn't even faze America. "Easy for you. It probably took me twice as long to convince all my supporters; it took me ten minutes just to get them to try and remember who I was."

Through loud sniffles, America choked out a complaint. "Do you know how many times I had to call everyone before they stopped hanging up on me? At least ten each!" His last word dissolved into booming wails.

Canada shook his head at the effusive American. "America, stop being melodramatic. Guilt tripping me isn't going to work."

Suddenly America's wailing was cut off and he froze, still halfway on top of the island. With a long sigh, he lifted his head up and stood normally, wiping away the fake tears on his flushed cheeks. "Geez, it works with everybody else," he grumpily mumbled, glowering at his brother as he rubbed away the last of his tears.

"They don't feel sorry for you, they're just annoyed," Canada bluntly snapped.

"Fuck you... What do we do now?"

"I don't know; something with sports, maybe?"

America laughed heartily. "Totally, broski! Baseball it is! I'll destroy you!"

"No, no, no, no." Canada hastily rejected, with a look of horror on his face as he recalled their painful games of catch, "that wouldn't be fair at all!"

"Psh, don't be a wimp-"

"Why not hockey?"

America was slightly taken back at Canada's speedy interjection. "Hockey? _Seriously_?"

"Well, yeah. I mean it would be fair right?"

Tapping his chin thoughtfully, America suspiciously stared at his older brother. "Well, I am awesome at everything I do..."

With a nod of his head, Canada replied, "Of course, so what do yo have to lose?"

"Alright, let's do this!"

**xXx**

_Clack! Clack!_

"Flash! A~Aooooh! Hahaha! Eat it, loser!" America spun in circles against the raging Canadian as he smoothly glided on the glistening ice with his hockey stick raised over his head, his voice echoing in the empty hockey rink.

"S-Shut up!" Canada yelled, actually yelled with a volume that could match America," It's just one point!" He roughly shoved America as way from him, sending his brother skating away from his goal and back to the vibrant red center line.

"Yeah! One more point for Team Avenger!" the American continued to taunt, coming to a sharp halt at the center line with a twist of his ankle.

"We don't even have teams, America; it's just you versus me!"

"Whatevs, man. Just get back here so I can win this thing."

Bobbing his body up and down slightly, Canada slide into the center line, directly across his brother. "It's a tie, dumbass: 54-54. We each have equal chances of winning."

With a strained, cocky grin, America sputtered out a short laugh, muttering a snappy "you wish," before his face fell and his compunction completely changed.

Mirrorin g Canada, America's eyes hardened and eyebrows came together with a spark of determination.

Up close they could truly see that they were both faking strength when in reality they were about to out. Their faces were bright red and sweat rolled down their face despite the cold temperature of the rink. Their lips were cracked and dry from all of the heavy breathing they had been doing for the past forty-five minutes. They each were shaking ever so slightly under the heavy weight of their bulky hockey gear.

Not that either of them would admit it, but they smiled inwardly at seeing how much they wore each other down. Nope, Canada was not at all satisfied with the cut lip he gave America and America was not at all satisfied with the bloody nose he gave Canada.

With a shrill whistle from Canada, a black hockey puck appeared out of nowhere and clattered to the ice perfectly centered between them. With another whistle, the scoreboard automatically started counting down from five. Each of their bodies grew tenser and tenser by the second and with great relief, they attacked each other. Shredding up the ice even more, they punched and shoved each other up and down the rink over possession of the puck.

After ten minutes of slamming each other into the walls, two chipped teeth, and five almost goals, Canada raised his hockey stick over his head and swung at the puck with all his strength. Just barely brushing America's padded fingers, the puck soared into the white netting of the goal.

"Goddamn it! You bastard!"

"It's not my fault that you suck at hockey! Ha! The kid is yours!"

"Why you-"

Let's just say that they were still trying to kill each other even when the police hauled them off.

**xXx**

Years later, America and Canada were cruising through some quaint little town pleasantly. They chatted to each other about how they thought last week's world meeting went and how everything was going on in their personal lives. They were acting like normal adult brothers for once in their life- no scheming pranks against other personifications, there was no fistfights, no drunk singing, no explosions. It was nice.

And all this perfection was destroyed by one song on the radio.

_And I was like..._

_Baby, baby, baby, oooh_

_Like baby, baby, baby, nooo_

_Like baby, baby, baby, oooh_

_I thought you'd always be mine-_

"What the hell?!" America hissed through clenched teeth as he jabbed the radio's power button on the dashboard, "I thought we were fucking over that song. _Chad_ fucking fire the person who chose to play that."

Canad shifted in the passenger seat uncomfortably, warily eyeing the fuming American. "Um, America, you know he can't hear you..."

"_Who_?"

"Ah the, um, radio host..." Canada positioned himself as far away from his brother as possible, he had half the mind to bail out of the truck right then and there. He pursed his lips at America's incoherent mumbles. "Uh where are we going?"

"To get some breakfast." America snapped as he pulled into the Taco Bell drive through.

"Didn't we already eat-"

"Shut up, this is how I cope. What do you want?" America impatiently drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as they waited to the car in front of them to finish ordering.

"I don't know..."

"Just say something,"

"Ah, maybe the Cina-"

"Hold on a sec, bro." America interrupted his twin with a have of his hand. Partially sticking his head out his window, he gave his horn a long honk and yelled: "Let's move it already!"

Only receiving the bird, America dejectedly huffed back in his seat. "Come on, I've got places to be," he muttered to himself irritably.

In fear of angering America, Canada proceeded with caution. "Actually I thought we were just-"

"_Shut_ up, Canadia; nobody asked you."

After sitting in awkward silence for a minute, the car ahead of them finally moved forward and America took their place.

"Hello, welcome to Taco Bell. May I take your order?" the crackled voice of a woman called through a speaker next to bright panels showing off the menu.

"I'll have a Bacon A.M. Crunch Wrap, Orange Juice, and Steak and Egg burrito," America stiffly answered.

Tapping America's shoulder, Canada added, "Can I have-"

"Shut up, no one cares."

Slowly blinking in surprise, Canada's face morphed into an outraged look. "But you just asked me-"

"Shuuuuut up." America once again interrupted with a pop of his "p".

Canada's eyes narrowed. This was no long a fight over breakfast to him, it was now a fight over pride. "I want-"

"Shuuuuutttt-"

"-some Cinabon Bites."

"-uuuuupppp! You can have them when you take back Justin Bieber."

Canada scoffed at America's motherly tone. "What does he have to do with my food?"

"Everything! He's ruining my life, bro!" America latched two strong hands in his elder brother and shook him for emphasis.

"That has nothing to do with my Cina-"

"Everybody's hatin' on me because they think he's from _my _country."

"America, calm down-"

"But you're a sly bastard and make everybody forget! So they don't believe me!" America shoved his brother and slammed him against the passenger door, making him crack his head against the glass.

Shoving his skewed glass back in place over his smoldering violet eyes, Canada retaliated with a yank on America's cowlick. Before you knew it, they had a full fledged brawl, a feat that only they could achieve in such a small space.

They only stopped wrestling with each other when the poor woman that took their order called the police and told them about two men fighting about beavers. Dragging and shoving the screaming nations into different patrol vehicles, the police ignored their hollers of, "I want my damn Cinabun Delights!" and, "You're never getting Taco Bell breakfast until you take the brat back!"

**xXx**

Ahhhh, World Meetings. Unproductive, anarchic events held by nation once a month. Everybody hated them with a passion and many, _many_ had made it their life goal to make every other nation suffer the "pain and misery" that they had to go through. However, among these haters, stood one man. A proud German man.

Despite loathing the meeting and the people that participated, Germany loved order and knowledge more passionately them (only a smidge more, but he would never admit to anything). So, he took it upon himself to control the happenings that occurred in these massive gatherings. Today he had surprisingly kept everybody on task for a total of fifteen minutes. Or so he had thought.

"As you can tell by the data," Germany gestured to the line graph projected on the screen behind him, "to improve-"

"SON OF A BITCH!"

"HA! Eat it, America!"

Every nation in the room whipped their heads around to the source of the commotion. At the far end of the meeting table, near the back, Canada was humming a sassy victory tune with his hands over his head pumping in the air along with his song. Next to him, standing up and staring at his Iphone with a mixture between shock and rage, America was fuming and shaking as if he was about to explode.

Cutting off his older's brother victory dance, America threw his phone down, creating a large crater in the ground. "You mother-"

"_Excuse_ you? I can't hear you over the sound of my win? Who's the Flappy Bird champion? I am, bitch!"

"Nopenopenopenope!" America chanted, fiercely shaking his head before stopping to jab a finger at Canada. "I can _not_ accept this! You are a fucking cheater, Canada!"

"What? What was that? I can't hear you!" Canada mercilessly mocked, leaning closer to his brother to fake hard of hearing.

"Yoooooouuuuu'rrrrreeeee a cheateeeeerrrrr!"

"Excuse me, but last time I knew fourteen was more that thirteen so you can suck it!"

Canada's thrusting gesture was the last straw for America. "God! You're just as bad as Justin Beiber!"

The sudden tense silence between the two was like the calm before the storm; it was so silent you could hear Italy whimper across the room. Many of the personifications in the room slyly slide underneath the table.  
>"You take that back!" Canada demanded as he lunged for America, tackling him to the floor. "Take it back!"<br>"Never, maple-sucking asshole!" America rebelled against his twin's attack by sending him a solid punch in the face.

"You mother trucking-"

The fight between the North American twins grew more intense as the more colorful their ridicules became, reaching the point where they literally wrestled each other out of the room and Romano shed a tear of joy (because by damn he needed somebody other than that tea bastard to have swearing contests with).

With grim, incredulous faces, France and England stared at the pair as the rolled out of the meeting room.

With a shake of his head and a halfhearted gesture towards their ex-colonies, England mumbled to France, "We made that. We made _that_."

"No monsieur... Don't look at it that way, we did not make that... You did, obviously you fucked up somewhere."

"Why you cheeky-"

**xXx**

"Go away!" America cried over his shoulder to the person at his front door. With a huff of annoyance, he buried himself deeper into his blanket and curled the bucket of ice cream closer to his chest.

_Ding dong. Ding dong. dingdongdingdongdingdong-_

"Alright, alright! Hold your horses, I'm coming!"

Grumpily pausing the pilot episode of Supernatural and rolling off the couch, he trudged to the front door, blanket and ice cream still at hand. He opened the door with an impassive face, obviously not amused with the show Canada was making.

With wide, pleading eyes, Canada stared through the water pouring down on him. "A-America? Please forgive me."

"Dude, you didn't even try to hide the hose, it's in you fucking hand."

Canada glanced at the hose in his left hand and the water shooting from it to make 'rain' before giving his brother the same sorrowful look. "It's not a hose, it's a rose." A look of intense disappointment from America. "Okay, I may be a smartass, but I really am sorry about what happened yesterday."

America dejectedly ate another spoonful of ice cream at the memory of the World Meeting. "Sorry doesn't change the fact that you cheated."

"Oh my god- You know what? I'm not even going to say anything... _Anyways _I'm here to bring a peace offering."

"Peace offering?" the American questioned through the vanilla ice cream in his mouth.

"Yes," Canada tossed the hose off to the side and pulled a card from out of nowhere. "He's an actor, soon to be star on that Supernatural show you're watching. Newbies and mild-fans of the show will think he's American."

Tears began to form in the corner of America's eyes and his throat tightened up as he gazed upon the magnificent man on the card. On the front was the picture of a man with dark hair and dreamy blue eyes in a baggy Pikachu on onesie. One the inside were the words _I Love Very Misha~!_

Through a choked, high-pitched voice America could only reply with, "Is that supposed to be a pun? What the hell, man?"

**x~x~x~X~x~x~x**

**Based off a bunch of jokes and what not I heard.**

**My first attempt at a humorous story, so I would love to hear how you thought I did!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia- Axis Powers, Justin Bieber, Taco Bell, Supernatural, of Flappy Bird.**

**Side Note: Guess who got an A on a monologue based off of this story? Hetalia Forever~!**


End file.
